


in silent screams (in wildest dreams)

by sarcastic_fina



Category: Banshee (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post 3x06, Season 3 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3459440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcastic_fina/pseuds/sarcastic_fina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the rare nights he can get any kind of sleep, he dreams of her face. Of her eyes. Of her voice. Of all the ways things could have gone differently...</p>
            </blockquote>





	in silent screams (in wildest dreams)

He dreams of her.

On the rare nights he can get any kind of sleep, he dreams of her face. Of her eyes. Of her voice.

Of all the ways things could have gone differently.

If he'd left town before they ever had a chance.

If he'd talked those thugs down and the real Lucas Hood had lived to become Sheriff.

If he'd taken the shot as soon as he saw Chayton holding Siobhan hostage, no hesitation, right between the eyes.

If he'd let him have Proctor and snuck the others out somehow. Or even just her. Just hid her somewhere safe.

The scenarios play out in his head; some good and some bad. Sometimes he's in time, sometimes he's not.

He imagines what it could have been like if Chayton had picked another night, another time, to attack the Cadi. If Siobhan would've said yes, joined him on the road, gone anywhere in the world with him. The house of his so-called dreams might have burned down, but the land is his. Was rebuilding an option? Something different, something better, something just for them. They could've stayed in the airstream while he built it, with his own two hands. He could imagine nights, sitting side by side, two bottles of beer sweating under the sun, lights strung up around the newly built porch. She'd be pulling slivers from his fingers, telling him he needs to wear those gloves she got him, teasing him when he winces, kissing each cut better as she stares up at him, those bright blue eyes never failing to make a warm weight settle deep in his chest. Moments like that freeze up in his head, slow motion, with her looking so damn beautiful and hopeful and alive…

There'd be no Proctor there. No Rabbit or Chayton or any number of enemies that were always so damn eager to climb out of the wood work. It'd be just him and her.  _Siobhan_. He could still hear her laugh. It echoed in his ears until his eyes snap open, his hand reaching for a body that's not there. That's never going to be there.

His safety is gone with her. That comfort and familiarity and trust has evaporated. He feels it, stirring up in his gut, mixing in with the rage and the violence and the 'fuck you, God, or whoever the fuck is pulling these goddamn strings.' Fuck all of them. Fuck everybody that put him here. Fuck every bad decision he ever made. Every person that came for him and left casualties in their wake. Fuck every bullet he's ever fired and every one that was fired at him. Fuck 'em all.

He's tired. He's so  _fucking_  tired.

But when he closes his eyes, he sees her, and he's not sure if it's a blessing or a curse. 'Cause when he reaches for her, she's not close enough, and when he chases her, she sifts through his fingers, like fine threads, a ghost of a hope of a dream. Waking up hurts. Physically, mentally, emotionally. He's just done. He's broken and empty and  _tired_.

This cage he built for himself—that's what Sugar said, right? That guys like them built their own cages—his is too small. It's too tall and strong and the walls are always closing in. And every time he thinks he has a way out, a way around, a way  _through_ , there's a new problem, a new roadblock, a new enemy waiting in front of him.

What's his life going to be like now? Is this it? Is this all he has to look forward to? Blood and death and bullet shells at his feet. He wanted away from that. He wanted so many things. He can remember 15 years of looking to the future, building it up in his head, and it wasn't like this.

He can still smell her hair, feel it coil around his fingers.

He can still feel the weight of her hand on his chest, stroking in circles, pausing on scars, silently asking for stories he hadn't told her.  _Not yet_.

He can still see her, staring up at him, tears brimming in her eyes, her face sad and angry and scared—

_Who the hell are you?_

_Was any of it real?_

_Would you really have just walked away?_

_I don't want to die tonight._

He loved her. Fuck it all, he  _loves_ her. It's hard putting a word to it. Putting a definition on something he never thought he'd have again. Ana was always going to be in his heart. For a while, he thought she  _defined_  his heart. But there was history there, maybe too much, and she had a lot more than him she needed to think about. He could understand that. When Siobhan came along, she snuck in. She got in under his defenses and she carved out her own place. And he could see it. He could finally see himself going somewhere, having something, beyond those 15 years. That prison sentence that never quite ended. That dream he'd build up behind bars that was never going to happen.

He had a new dream. A new hope. A new chance.

His history wasn't great. His past wasn't clean. And the only woman he'd loved had left big shoes to fill and a lot of baggage in her wake. But he was ready. He could do this. Just him and Siobhan.

He wakes up every morning and it's wrong. It's all wrong. And eventually, he's sure that will fade. Maybe. Like all things do. But he doesn't want it to. So sometimes he keeps his eyes closed a little longer, sometimes even after he's startled awake, he tries to hold onto those lingering pieces of a dream never lived and already lost. Sometimes he tells himself she's there, right beside him. Sometimes he can even feel her.

Until the phone rings, sharp and shrill, calling him in for work, and his eyes have to open to the empty space beside him. The hole that she used to fill.

There's a burned up field a few hour's drive away.

They could've had a home there.

They  _should_ have.


End file.
